Bob Czako Classics

From: rczako@sprynet.com [SMTP:rczako@sprynet.com]
Sent: Friday, April 26, 1996 1:22 PM
To: bmt-talk@ai.mit.edu
Subject: Strange Looks in the Space Needle Men's Room
 
Dear Barb,
 
I really enjoyed your post. It sounds like your family has a great sense of
humor!! I think that living with people that know how to laugh (and especially
at themselves) makes life worth living and struggling for.
 
Since you missed the "Space Needle Story", here it is. Recently, several people
have asked for it - so I posting it publicly instead of sending it to you only.
Those who have seen it umpteen times can just ignore it.
 
Love,
 
Bob
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
STRANGE LOOKS IN THE SPACE NEEDLE MEN'S ROOM
(written late last year while recuperating in Seattle after BMT#2)
 
The day before yesterday we went to the Seattle Space Needle for dinner. I have
not been to very many restaurants because I am very much afraid of being around
crowds or eating food that we have not prepared ourselves. However, my
brother-in-law and his girlfriend were visiting and we wanted to do something
"touristy". Anyway, as you will probably read in one of my other posts today, I
have a very painful condition called Hemorrhagic Cystitis. Basically, I am
passing big nasty blood clots from my bladder via my ....... "snitzengruben".
The pain is surreal. When the clots come out It hurts so bad that I get dizzy.
 
About half way through my lamb chops my damaged bladder decided that it wanted
to get rid of some mambo-jambo sized blood clots. I suddenly had to pee so bad
that I couldn't see straight. Oh yeah, to make matters worse I was wearing a
portable I.V. pump over my shoulder (part of the cure for the cystitis is power
pumping saline through me all day). I quickly got up to go to the Men's Room.
 
I figured that I would just make it in time because I had seen the Men's Room
when we came in and it was very close. Because of my condition, I always keep
track of where the closest Men's Room is. However, this time when I looked, it
wasn't there. Then I realized, OH MY GOD! THIS STUPID RESTAURANT IS ROTATING!
The entrance to the toilets was now 180 degrees on the other side of the Space
Needle. I had to go all the way around! I think that I moved faster that day
than I have in the last six months. The passage way was narrow and congested. I
had to duck and dodge around waiters with their trays and try not to step on
slow moving children. Somehow, I made it to the other side. I went into the door
marked restrooms and then I saw a sign which pointed UP A FLIGHT OF STAIRS! I
couldn't believe it. I don't do stairs. The Prednisone has wasted my leg
muscles. I am an elevator guy these days.
 
Well, I had no other choice. I slowly, and methodically, climbed the steps. When
I got to the top I experienced what I imagine Sir Edmund Hillary must have felt
when he got to the summit of Everest. Well, I did not have much time to savor
the moment or to plant a flag because my bladder was ready to erupt. I almost
knocked over another fellow who came in at the same time that I did. I just made
it into the stall, closed the door, unbuttoned the 501's and went for it. Here
comes the crux of the story. When the clots moved through "my system" it hurt
so bad that I felt like screaming. But I tried to retain some sense of decorum
and I kept it to a low moan. It took a while because my bladder is pretty beat
up and their were many blood clots. Each one was bigger and more painful than
the last.
 
Unfortunately, I couldn't help it - but I was moaning fairly loudly and there
was a little bit of swearing too. I would have put Meg Ryan's character in When
Harry Met Sally to shame.
 
Finally, I rid myself of the last clot, left the stall and headed for the sinks.
I was very much out of breath, staggering a bit and I probably had a very
satisfied look on my face. Then I looked to the right. The fellow that came in
at the same time that I did, and evidently had been in the neighboring stall the
entire time, was giving me a very disgusted and almost fearful look. It was
pretty obvious from the look on his face that he thought that I had just
finished "amusing myself" in the neighboring stall. When I explained to him my
blood clot situation and pointed out my chemo induced bald head and my portable
I.V. bag we both laughed so hard that we were both had tears in our eyes. It was
really very funny. I was laughing all the way back to the table. The worst part
was that when my dining partners asked me why I was smiling like a Chesire cat
... I just told them that I simply couldn't tell them over dinner. However,
after dinner, during the ride home, I shared it with them and we all had a good
laugh.
 
Have a good one and may the restaurants that you eat in not revolve!!
 
Bob Czako
From: rczako@sprynet.com [SMTP:rczako@sprynet.com]
Sent: Sunday, April 14, 1996 10:16 AM
To: Bmt-Talk@ai.mit.edu
Cc: Mbmacrae@aol.com
Subject: Can Women Really Hover?
 
On Tue, 9 Apr 1996, Mbmacrae@aol.com wrote:
>Dear All,
> Do you all know that you should leave the water running after you wash
>your hands in a public rest room and then turn off the faucets with paper
>towels? I do the same as Lorraine and use paper towels to open and close
>doors. Sometimes I think this is all silly, but I do it anyway.
>
I also wash my hands religiously when I come home from anywhere and ask
>everyone else in the house to do the same. Then I accept big slobbery kisses
>from the dogs. Oh well. Take care. Love, Monica
Dear Monica and everyone else out there in BMT land!!!
 
I went to sleep last night after watching David Letterman (Lucianno Pavoratti
and Michael Bolton sang a duet together (Nessum Dorma). It was pretty good. I
guess that Lucianno's agent probably told him to get out there to work the talk
show circuit and smile a lot in order to rehabilitate his image while his
estranged wife and her PR people launch a major campaign against him and her
lawyers sue the crap out of him. Anyway, due to my Prednisone I woke up at 3:00
A.M. and I have been writing this for the last four and a half hours!!!! It is a
bit scatological, but I hope that you all enjoy it anyway!
 
CAN WOMEN REALLY HOVER?
 
I knew that the subject heading of "Can Women Really Hover" would get your
attention. However, before I begin. I need to warn the person who flamed me
after I used the word "pee" in a recent posting. That person, who shall remain
nameless, ought to stop reading this now - lest they be offended again - and
should find something less controversial/disturbing to read. Maybe they should
try the back of a cereal box. Some of them even have games and puzzles on them.
They may even find a nice "Where's Waldo" to work on.
 
Also, to the person that criticized my spelling a few weeks ago. I am working on
an essay about etiquette for you. It will be posted soon. "Yu ar jist gonna lov
it"
 
WHAT HOWARD HUGHES AND I SHARE
 
I hate peeing in public rest rooms. When I walk into a public restroom I
immediately feel like Howard Hughes (not like a billionaire, but like a
neurotic, obsessive compulsive clean freak). I hate touching anything in there.
I was never like this before my transplants. I never thought much about germs.
However, now that we (Blue Cross and myself) have invested more than a quarter
of a million dollars in saving me, I would hate to blow it all by picking up
some nasty little micro-organism in a restroom. Not to mention, I would hate for
my friends and family to have to live with the fact that I died because they
were out of disposable toilet seat covers at the International House of
Pancakes.
 
Whenever I hear that a cancer victim has died due to "complications from his/her
treatment", I figure that they must have died from something stupid like having
a baby sneeze on them, handling a salmonella infested iguana or getting E-Coli
from a poorly cooked piece of polska keilbasi. "Complications" just sounds so
much better than "the toilet got him".
 
MY FRIEND THE PORTABLE URINAL
 
However, sometimes I had/have no choice. When I had Hemarraghic Cystitis I often
had to use public restrooms (you all know my Space Needle story by now). My
bladder is a real trooper and has recovered nicely since the transplant. No more
bleeding and no more sense of urgency. For a few months after my transplant,
when I drove anywhere in Seattle, I used to keep a handy-dandy Hutch-issued
urinal at my side. Usually, my wife was driving so we didn't even have to pull
over for me to use it. Bumpy roads made using it a bit challenging sometimes but
I encourage post transplant men to get such a portable urinal and to keep it in
their car. If you are environmentally friendly, you can just go into a public
restroom (without touching anything) and then dump its contents into the urinal.
If you do not care about the environment, you can just dump it in the nearest
storm sewer. Actually, considering all of the other stuff in the storm sewer, a
little pee probably won't make much of a difference - heck, it is "natural"
after all.
 
I will, if I have to, pee in a public restroom because I can use the wall
mounted urinal. My eyes would have to be bulging from my head before I had to go
"#2" bad enough that I would sit on a public toilet seat. Does everyone out
there understand the "#2" euphemism? Sometimes I inadvertently use
midwestern-isms" that are not understood down south or out west. Anyway, I
guess that those films that they showed us in high school Health Education class
really worked. I do not care if they provided seat covers made of Kevlar and
Titanium - after seeing them filmstrips, I just ain't sittin' on a public toilet
seat.
 
PEEING AT THE MOVIE THEATER
 
Before I get to the main topic of this post (women and their ability to defy
gravity) I need to tell you about something that I did in a movie theater. In
retrospect, I can not believe that I did it. I am a huge James Bond fan. I have
seen all of the movies several times. On the flight out to Seattle last year
they advertised the new Bond movie "Goldeneye" prior to the in-flight movie. I
was thrilled that they finally made a new Bond film. After my transplant the
doctors gave me a list of all the things that I couldn't do. Going to the
theater was one of them.
 
I am usually a very compliant patient. However, I decided that life was not
worth living if I couldn't go to see "Goldeneye" on the big screen. Therefore,
my wife and I went to a matinee on a weekday. As I had figured, the place was
practically empty. There were probably a dozen people in the theater and we sat
far back so that everyone was in front of us. At this point after my transplant
I had a bad case of Hemarraghic Cystitis (this means that the inside of my
bladder was bleeding like a stuck pig). I had to wear a portable I.V. pump which
constantly pumped saline into me and I had to drink bottled water like a
marathon runner. In all I was getting more than four liters of hydration a day.
Needless to say, I had to pee a lot.
 
Half way into the movie I felt a sudden urge to pee. When you have cystitis you
cannot hold it for very long. On the screen, James Bond had just commandeered a
big tank and he was chasing the baddies down the street in it crushing anything
that got in his way. It was just so cool!! I was not about to miss this scene.
So I nonchalantly picked up my empty plastic Evian bottle, whipped out the old
spigot and pee'ed like a race horse - without spilling a drop and without
missing any of the action on the screen. I did momentarily consider the
possibility of getting stuck in the mouth of the bottle and having to make a
strange looking exit from the theater and an even stranger appearance at the
hospital - but being the Bond fan that I am, I figured that it was worth the
risk.
 
The whole time my wife just rolled her eyes and kept repeating "I cant believe
that you are doing this, I can't believe that you are doing this". On the way
out of the theater I simply deposited the bottle in the waste basket along with
my empty Goobers box. I am just so darn resourceful, and I wasn't even a boy
scout.
 
CAN WOMEN REALLY HOVER?
 
I do not understand how women can do it - but I hear that many women have
developed an ability to "hover" like a hummingbird or a Harrier jet fighter
while using a public toilet.
 
I will admit that women are superior to men in lots of ways and I am sure that
each woman in this forum could fill pages and pages with very valid evidence of
the superiority of women. Jeez, you can get any number of "women's magazines" at
any newsstand which aim to do just that. In the final analysis, most of us, men
and women alike, would probably agree that women are indeed superior to men.
After all, I assume that polyester leisure suits, fishing in sub-zero
temperatures through a hole in the ice and "ethnic cleansing" are all concepts
that were probably developed by men (women, however, must take credit for
inventing that stupid chicken dance that we have to do at every damn wedding
that Cathy and I go to).
 
However, there is one area in which men excel, and that is our "plumbing". When
it comes to peeing, women have what I can only describe as a major design flaw.
Now don't you women go flaming me for saying this. All I need to prove this is
a man, a woman, a keg of Molson Ice and a tree. I love women and I wouldn't
want to change a thing about them. After all, my Mother, sisters and wife are
all women - and they are all just fine the way they are. I wouldn't want any of
them to travel to Sweden to get their plumbing "renovated".
 
If it is really true that women have evolved to the point of being able to defy
Newtonian physics and that they can hover over a toilet seat, then some of
Darwin's theories about survival of the fittest are definitely true - as women
must have developed some incredible leg muscles over the millennia to make this
trick work. Maybe it is my Prednisone wasted leg muscles and chemo-induced
neuropathy - but I just cannot levitate myself above the seat without touching
it. In preparation for this posting, I did some research and tried it again. It
didn't work. However, I did envision a method wherein I could possibly hold a
couple of ten pound dumb-bells in front of me and thereby change my center of
gravity and make the hover a reality. However, public restrooms have a hard time
providing paper towels and soap so providing counter-weights is probably out of
the question - this concept will need to remain on the drawing board for a
while.
 
I think that the only guys that can "do the hover" successfully are David
Copperfield (the magician, not the Dickens character), a couple of
contortionists that I saw at the Cirque de Soleil show in Vegas and anyone who
grew up in France using those "hole in the ground" squatter toilets.
 
DON'T WASH YOUR HANDS AT THE PUBLIC SINK!
 
In response to Monica's original posting, I think that in many cases you
shouldn't even wash your hands after peeing. The best thing to do is to carry
some handi-wipes in your pocket or purse and to use them instead of the public
faucet. Women can even carry some disposable surgeons gloves with them. I swipe
'em from the hospital all the time. However, this may work against you if you
are ever suspected of murder and the police search your purse.
 
However, if you have been really careful and you haven't gotten any pee on your
hands you should just forego the use of the faucet and the sink. Especially, if
the faucet and sink are really gross looking. I do not know what the sinks look
like in women's restrooms, but sometimes the sinks are downright stomach turning
in men's restrooms and I refuse go near them. I have seen counter tops that you
would need a putty knife clean.
 
I realize that my suggestion that post-pee hand washing be skipped on occasion
may be a bit controversial - but I think that you are better off having a
miniscule bit of your own pee on your hands then exposing yourself to the
Andromeda strain that is festering in and around the sink area. Of course, if
after your transplant you can still afford to frequent places like the
Ritz-Carlton where an attendant cleans the sink area and counter top to the
point that one could almost eat off of, then you can go wash to your heart's
content.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
NOTE: If any of you flame me about this posting, you are a most certainly a
wiener and I will be forced to publish your name. Then all of the people who
like my postings will in turn flame you and you will be very sad. Speaking of
"flames", they may even chase after you with lit torches like the town's people
did when they were upset with Dr. Frankenstein and his monster in the original
Frankenstein film! Now that's what I call "getting flamed!!!!!
 
I may even talk to the Jamaican lady that works at the supermarket and see if I
can hire her to use her voo-doo doll and some itching powder to make the bottom
of your feet itch! I will order something even more extravagant for those who
are critical of my spelling! I hear that the Jamaican lady is having a special
on boil and hangnail curses this week. So watch out! I can be pretty hard-core
if I want to! Have a nice day. :)
 
Love,
 
Bob Czako
From: Judith A Miller [SMTP:histjam@emory.edu]
Sent: Monday, April 15, 1996 7:54 AM
To: bmt-talk@ai.mit.edu
Subject: Bob Czako's stories...
 
Bob -- I do not know what we will do when you taper off the prednisone
-- I am still laughing from your story about the space needle (which you
should probably repeat for any newcomers......) and now you have a
James Bond "hover story." This was worth staying up for!
 
How is the land of Cleve dealing with yr re-entry, btw? I keep expecting
a CNN report of some sort.....Maybe Wilma Smith, Live form her channel
five headquarters, reporting on Bob C's return to our fair city.
 
ciao, doll, J
************************************************************************
Judith A. Miller Ph: 404-727-6564
Dept. of History Fax: 404-727-4959
Emory University Email: histjam@emory.edu
Atlanta, GA 30322
From: rczako@sprynet.com [SMTP:rczako@sprynet.com]
Sent: Monday, May 27, 1996 5:15 PM
To: bmt-talk@ai.mit.edu
Cc: Mbmacrae@aol.com
Subject: PTERODACTYL TURDS, WOKS and DRINKING SEA MONKEYS (by Czako)
 
On Thu, 23 May 1996, Mbmacrae@aol.com wrote:
>Does anyone know why horses are such a post BMT no no?
>Monica
 
Dear Monica and large animal lovers,
 
PTERODACTYL TURDS, WOKS and DRINKING SEA MONKEYS
 
It is probably because horses make jumbo-sized turds and for some reason
(bacteria maybe?) the doctors are afraid that us immuno-suppressed post BMT-ers
are going to catch some kind of "mad turd" disease if we brush up against some
"road-side apples" (that's what we call 'em in Ohio - I do not know why).
 
I imagine that small animal turds are pound for pound just as lethal - but the
doctors do not mention them as much because they know that we can usually find a
friend or loved one to pick up the small animal turd for us with a tissue and to
dispose of them properly. However, the doctors might figure that it could be
harder for us to convince other people to shovel large animal turds for us and
that we would end up doing it ourselves and risk infection.
 
Although the doctors' fears might be caused by the knowledge that if a horse,
sensing your need for post-transplant love and affection, decided to jump up on
the couch and nestle behind your knees a la "Hercules" (my infamous greyhound)
that he/she could easily crush you (not to mention ruin the furniture if it
hasn't been Scotch-guarded properly).
 
Actually, I read once that Catherine the Great was crushed and killed by a horse
in bed - but I don't think that they were just "nestling" (puckish grin).
Attention animal lovers and religious fanatics - do not flame me - I was just
citing history. I am in no way endorsing cruelty to animals or equine
bestiality. Speaking of equine bestiality, I saw a film in Amsterdam once where
a ..... Oops, I think that I better save that story for a different talk-list.
 
Monica, have you ever seen the Lucy episode where Lucy and Ricky bought a house
in the country and Fred and Ethel came to wok for them. You may have noticed a
"typo" in the last sentence. I spelled "wok" instead of "work" - but the image
of Fred in an apron and a chef's hat making a chicken stir-fry for Lucy, Ricky
and Ethel was pretty funny so I left the typo in. Actually, I don't think that
Americans even knew what "woks" were back in the days when the Lucy shows were
made!!! I think that we learned about woks sometime in the very late sixties or
early seventies. I think that the cooking fad progression went like this:
fonduing, then woks and then finally crock-pots. I think, that as a nation, we
stopped fonduing and started "wok-ing" after the medical community warned us
that we were "fonduing up" our arteries with melted cheese. The "crock-pot" fad
didn't last long either - I think that the demise of the crock-pot as a national
institution was due to the energy crises, social responsibility and the simple
fact that leaving an electrical appliance plugged in all day without supervision
just wasn't a real bright idea (and I don't even think that we had portable
smoke detectors back then).
 
But then again, what the hell do I know about 25 year old cooking fads - I was
only six years old in 1970. I wasn't even allowed to make cakes in my older
sister's Easy Bake Oven then. Heck, I was even allowed to touch her
Etch-a-Sketch or Spiro-graph. What a bitch. She got to use cool drawing toys
while I was limited to the use of a 64 color box of Crayola's with half the
colors missing and a green crayon permanently jammed in the built-in sharpener.
O.K., I guess I shouldn't complain since I jammed the crayon in there in the
first place. But how was I supposed to know that you were supposed to TWIST the
crayon and not just PUSH it in - My Mom's let me use the the electric pencil
sharpener and IT just required PUSHING without TWISTING!.
 
Today, my sister is a successful architect and I still use crayons (pastels
actually, and only a couple of colors are missing) to make abstract works of art
that look similar to what I made when I was six and that only my mother really
likes - and there is no more room on her refrigerator door. Actually, I think
that my sister restricted my access to her drawing stuff as a method of
punishing me for drinking her Sea Monkeys It is really amazing, you drink your
sister's pets and you affect your entire life - and the Sea Monkey's did even
taste all that great. But I digress. However, at this point I could probably tie
this back to post-BMT dietary restrictions and warn everyone not to drink live
brine shrimp because they would be considered to be raw seafood (basically a
sushi beverage) and we all know that raw seafood of any type is a big "no-no".
 
Back to horses and the Lucy shows. In one of the "county house" episodes "little
Ricky" won a horse. Lucy tried to hide the horse IN THE HOUSE so that Ricky
wouldn't see him. There was a hilarious scene wherein Lucy tried to get the
horse up a flight of stairs - it was a classic. Also funny was when Lucy let a
few hundred baby chicks loose in the living room. I just love the old Lucy shows
(I think that it is because Lucy reminds me a lot of my wife Cathy, or because
Cathy reminds me of Lucy, or something like that).
 
Seriously though, I bet that the medical community picks on horses because their
turds are probably the biggest ones that normal people could ever expect to come
in contact with. They do not expressly say that we should watch out for Rhino
turds or Giraffe turds because the chances that we would ever step in or have to
clean up either one's "large animal feces" is pretty remote - that is unless you
are experiencing a Rhino or Giraffe infestation. But if you do have such an
infestation you are probably "gonna" call the Orkin man anyway and you can just
pay him an extra five bucks to clean up the ten pound turds.
 
Attention prudes and Pollyanna's - do not flame me regarding my use of the word
"turd". I think that the word "turd" actually has a nice ring to it and is fun
to say. Go ahead, say it, "Pterodactyl Turd, Wooly Mammoth Turd, Trilobyte Turd"
- see isn't that fun! At least I didn't use the word "shit". Oops, sorry about
that - I guess that I just did!
 
P.S. Lately, Hercules has taken to "turding" (can turd be used as a verb?) right
next to my drafting table in my studio - and I do not think that it is a
coincidence. I think that Hercules has become an art critic and his "little
presents" are his way of commenting on my current batch of paintings. However,
I will get the proverbial "last laugh". Hercules doesn't realize that although
Cathy carries the grocery bags up the steps of our townhouse (I claim that I am
still too weak to carry heavy things even though I probably could by now - I'm
going to milk this post BMT weakness thing for as long as I can - don't tell
Cathy), I actually do the shopping. From now on the little "art critic" is no
longer going to get brand-name Ken-L-Ration "Sausages" made from real beef and
beef by-products. Instead, he is going to get dried out, nasty looking, generic
dog treats made from hor ... (Oops, I better not mention the ingredients as
Monica may actually have read this far!).
 
See ya all, my drafting table and crayons are beckoning me!
 
Bob Czako
From: rczako@sprynet.com [SMTP:rczako@sprynet.com]
Sent: Friday, May 03, 1996 5:31 AM
To: Bmt-talk@ai.mit.edu
Subject: CZAKO: A Keebler Elf gets an MBA
 
A KEEBLER ELF GETS AN MBA - By Bob Czako
 
There is nothing better for satisfying a case of the Prednisone-induced
"munchies" than a bunch of chocolate sandwich cookies. I like the classic ones,
not the new ones with twice the filling. Some things just shouldn't be messed
with. The Keebler chocolate sandwich cookies with extra filling are unnatural
and disgusting.
 
I bet that they are the work of a Keebler elf that went off and got himself an
MBA. The day that he graduated he rushed back to the Keebler tree-house and said
"Keebler tradition be damned changes must be made! Oreo is "eating our lunch. My
fellow elves, my analysis shows that we must immediately re-tool three of our
tree-houses for conversion to double filling if we are to remain competitive".
 
Then the newly educated elf continued by saying "The Tree-house by the pond has
termites and therefore will not be upgraded to double fill mode. Some elves will
be reassigned to double filling tree-houses, however, some will be layed off. We
will not be able to use seniority as a criteria for deciding who to the let go
because we really don't know how old any of us actually are. All we know is that
while we do not dress as snappily as Gnomes, and we can't dance and sing as well
as the Munchkins - we are superior because we make cookies and live in hollowed
out trees. Also we smell better than either the Gnomes or the Munchkins and we
are much better behaved than those mischievous Poltergeists!"
 
He then said "We do know that we will need to placate Elves, Gnomes, Munchkins
and Poltergeists Local #307 - they have gotten wind of my plan and are
threatening an anti-Keebler media blitz. Therefore, I have scheduled a round of
golf with a couple of key elves in Santa's elfin executive management team. I
will see if they can convince Santa to offer our displaced elves positions at
one of their North Pole toy factories". Also, Mickey Rooney is my brother-in-law
and he sits on Santa's board. He may be able to quietly exert some pressure for
us."
 
The MBA elf told the group "I think that Santa will help - he has owed us a big
favor since we lent him some of our manufacturing and delivery workforce back in
'86 when he tried that Japanese "Just-in-Time" delivery scheme. What a fiasco!
He stored all of the kid's toys in closets in their own homes so that they would
be readily available for delivery on Christmas morning. Of course, the children
found the hidden toys long before the Holidays and new toys had to be
manufactured for delivery on Christmas night. Boy, we really saved Santa's ass -
and it that wasn't the first time either - do you remember when our PR people
helped the North Pole to cover up the fact that they secretly used UPS, Fed-Ex
and DHL during the great Reindeer Strike of 1982? Boy, the only thing that I
despise more than organized reindeer, are near-sighted dogs!"
 
"Just look at these forecasts! Look at these graphs! The Oreo Doublestuff brand
will achieve an 80% share of the double filled chocolate sandwich cookie market
within three months unless we act now! We do not have time to see how the new
cookies will react when dunked in milk, whether they can be twisted apart so
that all of the filling remains properly on one side or even whether or not they
will taste good - JUST MANUFACTURE THEM!!!!!! We will leave it to our Madison
Ave tree-house to figure out how we will foist them on our cookie-loving
consumers!
 
Good night!
 
Bob
From: rczako@sprynet.com [SMTP:rczako@sprynet.com]
Sent: Wednesday, December 04, 1996 10:37 AM
To: bmt-talk@ai.mit.edu
Subject: CZAKO HUMOR: CATS ARE FROM MARS, DOGS ARE FROM VENUS
 
Hello all,
 
I have been messaging with June lately about our pets. I wrote some funny stuff
about my dog to her today. I thought that some of you could use a little humor
so I expanded the essay a bit and I am posting it to the BMT-Talk group.
NOTE: If you are one of the people out there that feels that all of the postings
should include a reference to cancer or BMT's then I hope that the following
sentence suffices:
 
"Cancer really sucks - as does GVHD, Prednisone and Prednisone-induced
Diabetes."
 
O.K., now that the medical stuff is out of the way - here is some funny (I hope)
stuff!
 
CATS ARE FROM MARS AND DOGS ARE FROM VENUS
 
When my wife and I were in Seattle and I was getting my 2nd transplant we left
our Italian Greyhound, "Hercules", in Cleveland with a family that has a cat.
One day Hercules made the mistake of eating some of the cat's food right out of
the cat's bowl. Hercules is not very bright. I told him that it is like that
Jim Croce song, you don't spit into the wind, you don't step on Superman's cape
and you NEVER EAT ANY OF THE CAT'S FOOD!
 
Hercules got into a fight with the cat and lost. He has a big nasty scar on his
nose to prove it (he shows it proudly to the female dogs in the neighborhood -
of course he claims that he got it in a fight while defending the honor of a
beautiful poodle named Fifi when serving with the French Foreign Legion in the
Belgian Congo - I think that Hercules has been watching to much of the American
Movie Classics station!
 
I'll be honest with ya. I don't much like cats and either does Hercules. I can't
really explain my disdain for the feline species - maybe one of 'em scared my
Mom when she was pregnant with me - who knows. My wife thinks that I coached
Hercules into hating cats - but this is not true. He is "his own dog" and he
decides for himself who he will and will not bark at. When a chipmunk appears on
the deck, Hercules just looks at it for a short while with a bemused look on his
face (he just recently has learned to tell the difference between leaves and
chipmunks), a squirrel elicits a few barks, a raccoon is serious business and
warrants real barking and some mild growling, a human being requires lots of
barking and real growls.
 
However, if a cat has the gall to walk onto HIS deck (I pay the mortgage - but
it is HIS deck! Ha!) then Hercules has a full-scale kiniption. He runs across
the room, launches himself right into the glass patio door, pounds the glass
with his paws and barks so hard that no sound comes out - just a pitiful
staccato squeal.
 
There are lots of stray cats in the neighborhood and they all react differently.
One just freezes - hoping that Hercules doesn't see it (not the brightest cat in
the world). Some cats freak out, shit themselves, do a back-flip and run away.
However, the smart, more experienced, cats realize that they are perfectly safe
and that a few inches of glass separate them from the howling, drooling idiot in
the house (no not me, HERCULES! - I only howl and drool when Baywatch is on)
These smug, "educated" cats are the ones that Hercules hates the most because
they stand there nonchalantly licking their paws and looking at him insultingly.
I swear that I have even seen them smile on occasion.
 
Hercules, would love to get outside so that he could chase the cats. I do not
dare let him out though because he would certainly be able to catch up with the
cat. Our "Doggie Encyclopaedia" says that Italian Greyhounds, Whippets and
Greyhounds can run at close to 40 mph. Wow! However, since his brain is probably
about as big as a hazelnut, I do not think that he has actually thought about
what he would do with one if he caught one - that is providing that he did get
his eyes scratched out within the first few seconds.
 
June, Hercules is anal retentive like your cat Max. However, unlike Max who
likes to be neat about his food, Hercules needs to make sure that he has left
some food in every room of the house. I am not sure if he is leaving a trail a
la "Hansel & Gretel" 'cause he is afraid of getting lost or whether he is
stockpiling food in case of the coming house-pet "race war" (you know, the
scenario wherein the cats take over the world (with the help of the ferrets) and
then subjugate the dogs).
 
Hercules has told me on several occasions, with horror in his eyes, that after
the war the cats are going to make the dogs get jobs - and this scares the hell
out of him. You see, it is hard to get a job when you have a garbage can
addiction and your resume reads as follows:
 
HERCULES CZAKO
 
6930 West Fitzwater
Brecksville, OH 44141
 
BREED: Italian Greyhound Weight: 15 pounds, soaking wet
AGE: 2.5 years Color: Blue-grey
I.Q. If it was any lower he would be a plant
 
MOTTO: "Well, at least I don't shed"
 
EDUCATION:
 
Lucy Van Pelt's Canine Obedience School - Completed 4 of 12 classes.
 
NOTE: he only dropped out because he couldn't handle the stress - he would start
shaking if you mentioned going to class. He would show up at class without his
homework and then claim that his master, Bob, had eaten it!
 
His therapist, Dr. Wolf N. Sheepsclothing, says that Hercules has full-blown
performance anxiety. Hercules is currently considering participation in a phase
III trial of Drozac (doggie prozac). Once he gets his emotions back under
control he promises that he will study for, and complete, his G.E.D.D. (Graduate
Equivalency Degree for Dogs).
 
SKILLS:
 
* Eating
* Sleeping, Napping, Snoozing, Yawning and Stretching
* Making a nest out of the previously nicely folded blankets on the couch
* Running
* Barking at whatever moves on the deck (as well as at whatever doesn't move)
* Olympic class tail-chasing
* Looking innocent when he obviously isn't
* Passing gas in public without any compunction or guilt
(I taught him that last skill myself)
 
SPECIAL SKILLS
 
* Can finally tell the difference between chipmunks, sparrows and leaves
* Can sit or lay down on command (well kind of)
* Can open the lid of anything that has food inside of it
* Can totally lick out a dirty frying pan (Teflon and all)
* Can figure out what part of the house is currently the farthest point from his
master, and then crap there
 
FAVORITE ACTIVITIES
 
* Running around the dining room table like a maniac for no reason
* playing tug-a-war with a sock
* retrieving a ball and dropping it behind the couch where no one can get it
 
MEMBERSHIPS / ORGANIZATIONS
 
Garbage Can Pickers Anonymous (GCPA)
Anxious Dog Society (ADS)
Dogs who Hate Cats Association (DHCA)
 
*** References kind of hard to come by these days ***
From: rczako@sprynet.com [SMTP:rczako@sprynet.com]
Sent: Monday, November 18, 1996 3:53 AM
To: Judith Lear
Cc: BMT-Talk@ai.mit.edu
Subject: CZAKO: Ostrich Ragout, ME, Snow, Advent Calendars, Szalon Zukor,etc.
 
Hi Judith and Richard !!!
 
Happy Tenth Anniversary !!!
 
PLEASE NOTE:
 
Originally, I wrote the stuff below in response to a nice letter from Judith
Lear. However, since some of it is kind of humorous I figured that I might as
well post it to the whole list. There ain't much in it about cancer, BMT's,
chemotherapy, etc. It is basically just rambling Czako-prose. If you are in the
mood for cancer related stuff then close this message and read another posting.
If you don't like the fact that I am posting my "humor" on the this list - too
bad. If even one person out there laughs even once - then my posting was
worthwhile and it has served it's purpose. Oh yeah, I have another warning: I
swear once in a while (I blame the Prednisone - it is like a Tourettes syndrome
kind of thing) and my spelling really sucks.
 
OSTRICH RAGOUT
 
Judith, you said that you folks ate Ostrich Ragout !!! I can't get the image out
of my mind of the poor schmuck that has to butcher the Ostrich. I have seen them
suckers at the zoo - and they looked awfully big and mean (Ostriches that is,
not college students - although I think that some college students do actually
belong in a zoo!).
 
At your friendly neighborhood Ostrich slaughter-house, they probably hire a poor
college student, give him a knife and throw him into the Ostrich corral. You
know what, I think that Ostrich Fighting could become a popular spectator sport
(especially in your "neck of the woods"). That "good ol' boy" demographic that
currently spend their hard earned money on cock-fighting and dog-fighting would
surely become fans of our new National Ostrich Fighting League (NOFL). We could
start off with the Tejano market and then expand into Mexico and Spain and go
after the entire Bullfighting market. You could do some market research while in
Portugal (do they fight bulls there?)
 
I hereby nominate myself to be Commissioner. Without Browns games to watch,
Clevelanders would surely support a franchise. Of course there is the problem of
the ASPCA - but we'll make so much money that paying of the naysayers shouldn't
be a problem. We'll just get them nice loge seats and some Moet et Chandon and
they will fall right into line. Now, all we need to do is use your Tanzanian
contacts to get us some high quality Ostrich breeding stock!!!
 
O.K., I admit it, I may be a bit nuts - but at least I have never been accused
of not having an imagination. My English teachers always loved me. My spelling,
punctuation and mechanics may have sucked big-time - but boy oh boy could I make
up stories!!! Speaking of "spelling", have you ever heard of anyone's ability
to spell being affected by chemotherapy? I swear that after two transplants and
absolutely shitloads of chemo, my ability to spell has been negatively affected.
 
ME: HOW AM I DOING?
 
Thanks for asking how I am doing.
 
I am doing fairly well these days but the immunosuppressive drugs (FK-506 and
Prednisone) kind of wipe me out sometimes - thanks for asking. You know, it is
funny, healthy people use the expression "how are you" and they usually get the
a very polite response of something to the effect of "Oh, just fine". However, I
have found that after a BMT people tend to get brutally honest and they tell you
the truth - especially if you are a BMT-er yourself. If you ask a BMT-er how
they are doing they might come back with weird stuff like "my finger nails are
finally growing back", "my shingles sores have finally stopped oozing" or "My
'roids are finally behaving themselves". Anyway, I am doing pretty well. I am
fourteen months post-transplant and I am still (as far as I know) in remission.
I just get tired a lot and the Prednisone has wasted my leg muscles and makes
sleeping difficult. Also, 'cause of the myopathy in my legs. getting up out of a
chair takes a lot of effort. However, overall, in the immortal words of the
actor S. Szakall in the movie "Christmas in Connecticut", everything is just
"Hunky Dunky". S. Szakall was a Hungarian character actor that usually played
often played the role of the kindly old cook, house keeper, etc. If you saw him
you would recognize him. By the way, everyone has to rent "Christmas in
Connecticut" this Christmas. It is a great alternative to "It's a Wonderful
Life" which we have all seen umpteen times - but be careful, don't rent the
awful 1980's remake starring Tony Curtis. I have not seen it - but it just has
to suck. Tony Curtis has not made a good movie in decades.
 
SNOW IN CLEVELAND
 
As you may have heard or read, we have something called "Lake Effect Snow" here
in the Great Lakes region. It is bizarre. The "snow belt" in Cleveland runs
across the East side of town. So when we get lake effect snow the snow on the
West side of town can be measured in inches while on the East side it needs to
be measured sometimes in feet!!! I live on the edge of the snow belt in a suburb
south of Cleveland called Brecksville. We got a little more than a foot of snow
last week. My sister lives in an Eastern suburb called Chesterland - they got
about four feet of snow!!! My sister drives one of them big-ass family truckster
style mega-Jeeps and her husband drives an Audi Quattro. You would never get out
of your drive-way any other way. Out there, many people have snow mobiles too -
and the local police department keeps track of who has them so that they can
call on the snow mobiling good Samaritans during an emergency. The ruddy-faced,
brandied-up, "snow mobilers" are like a happy militia of sorts (and fortunately,
sans pipe bombs!)
 
A lot of people lost power during the storm because the ice and snow piled up on
lots of power lines and the weight pulled them down (along with lots of trees).
I am glad that we did not lose power because our house is all electric (you
ought to see my electric bills - ouch!). Repeat after me, Heat Pumps Don't Work!
Heat Pumps Don't Work (at least they don't work when it is cold outside!) Of
course, I am employed by THE AMERICAN GAS ASSOCIATION so I may be a bit biased!
 
In your letter you said "no mention of hot chocolate cuz of the diet". Actually,
I have discovered a wonderful product called "Swiss Miss - No Added Sugar - Hot
Chocolate Mix". They can't say "Sugar Free" 'cause the milk in it does have
lactose (a form of sugar) in it. But us diabetics are allowed to have a little
sugar. I usually do not like stuff with aspartame in it - but this cocoa is
really quite good. Once I get rid of the Prednisone induced Diabetes I will
continue drinking the "No Added Sugar" stuff. Actually, I have no choice 'cause
I bought a fucking crateload of the stuff dirt cheap at a warehouse club last
week.
 
HOME-MADE CHRISTMAS GIFTS - ADVENT CALENDARS
 
You mentioned that you are making some present yourself this Christmas. Me too.
Some people are going to get "Czako paintings" this year because I have not had
much luck selling them. Selling abstract and impressionist paintings in a suburb
where there is are more bowling alleys than book stores is really tough. Where I
live, people prefer to decorate their homes with reproductions of famous
paintings (yuck) than with real, original, art.
 
My niece and nephew are going to get, among other things, a humongous,
home-made, advent calendar this year. Do you know what an "advent calendar" is.
It is a European tradition wherein you open a little door on a calendar each day
in December. Behind each door there is a little picture or little gift. I think
that it may be a German thing. I am Hungarian and we always had 'em. You see,
Hungarians are kind of like amateur mini-Germans - they love to emulate German
traditions.
 
I bought a few huge pieces of foam board and some really heavy blue card board.
This calendar will be about 3" x 4" !!! I am going to use an air-brush that I
bought recently (I don't really know how to use it - but it is still fun to play
with) to paint a big Christmas tree. Then I will cut twenty five little doors in
the picture and tape a plastic bag to the the back of each "hole". I will put
little gifts into the bags behind each door (candy, ornaments, etc.). Then I
will put some battery operated lights on the painting. I may even attach a
little tape recorder behind the calendar and make a tape of Christmas songs. I
think that Radio Shack has a cheap little tape recorder that will work just
fine.
 
As you may have guessed - I have a lot of free time on my hands. I think that my
niece and nephew love the fact that I am disabled 'cause I often use my time to
do stuff for them.
 
HOW MY MOTHER SAVED CHRISTMAS - "SZALON ZUKOR"
 
We also had szalon zukor (Hungarian chocolate candies in pretty foil that you
hang on the Christmas tree. We were not supposed to eat the candy until
Christmas, but one year, being the chubby little glutton that I was, I
discovered that I could carefully remove the candy and leave the foil so that it
looked like the candy was still in it. All hell broke loose on Christmas when my
father went to get a piece of candy from the tree. He squeezed each one in
succession and cursed in Hungarian. He looked at me and of course I just looked
at him innocently. I think that my two sisters had independently figured out the
candy swiping technique and they too were not going to admit to anything. As
usual my mother saved the day (aren't mothers great). She appeared with a fresh
box of szalon zukor, handed it to my father and thereby saved Christmas.
 
See ya,
 
Bob Czako
From: rczako@sprynet.com [SMTP:rczako@sprynet.com]
Sent: Monday, May 27, 1996 5:15 PM
To: bmt-talk@ai.mit.edu
Subject: Re: Humor and Hungarians
 
On Thu, 23 May 1996, Barbara Erickson <barbe@open.org> wrote:
 
>PS are all you folks with Hungarian sounding names so funny?
 
Actually Barbara, I do not think that Dale's name is Hungarian (we need to ask
Dale). Hungarian names do not usually end with a "cki". Dale's last name
actually sounds more like a Slavik name and not a Magyar one. I too think that
Dale is a riot. Maybe there is something in the water of the Danube that
affected our ancestors.
 
Anyway, I think that the Hungarians had to develop a good sense of humor in
order to survive being occupied by others during most of their 1100 year long
history. Among others the occupiers included the Turks, Austrians, Germans,
Russians and most currently American businessmen.
 
After World War I, during the signing of the Treaty of Trianon, the Hungarians
lost 2/3 of their territory to what is now Austria, Slovakia, the Ukraine,
Romania, Serbia and Croatia (Hey, Judith - did I get that right - did I forget
anybody else that got a piece of Hungary during the signing of the treaty in
France?)
 
Now you have got to have a pretty decent sense of humor to lose 2/3 of your
country and survive!
 
See ya,
 
Bob Czako
From: rczako@sprynet.com [SMTP:rczako@sprynet.com]
Sent: Friday, December 06, 1996 2:26 AM
To: bmt-talk@ai.mit.edu
Subject: Monica: "As long as the collar matches the cuffs"
 
HI Monica and all,
 
How could I possibly let this thread pass without adding a comment. In one of
the James Bond films (one of the good one's with Sean Connery) the bimbo du jour
said to 007 something to the effect of "what's wrong, don't you like blondes"
after he had ignored her advances. Then 007 said "sure ... as long as the collar
matches the cuffs". That was pretty risqué for the era. I just loved Sean
Connery's Bond - he was such a pig!!!!
 
See ya,
 
Bob
 
On Thu, 5 Dec 1996, Mbmacrae@aol.com wrote:
> Oh boy here we go again. Yes Kip, you lose it all. Men apparantly find
>this very intriguing in a woman. I don't know about the opposite. Too bad
>the libido is a goner along with the hair.
> On another note - the return of said hair, I will never forget my very
>first reading of BMT Talk when someone was bewailing the fact that the hair
>on her head had grown back a different color from her pubic hair. Our ever
>quick Tony Sica replied: "Who ever said that the carpet had to match the
>drapery?". That is one of the most affirming and accepting messages I have
>ever heard, and I will never forget it. It also made me howl with laughter
>and love BMT Talk immediately. We then went into a "decorator speak" for
>some time to follow, referring to our plain hardwood floors etc. Someone
>then said we needed to eliminate "hard" from the description and we were off
>an running with that one. How can I remember all this, I want to know, when
>I can't remember the members of my family half the time? I guess the importan
>t stuff sticks forever.
From: rczako@sprynet.com [SMTP:rczako@sprynet.com]
Sent: Monday, May 27, 1996 5:15 PM
To: bmt-talk@ai.mit.edu
Subject: Re: Humor and Hungarians
 
On Thu, 23 May 1996, Barbara Erickson <barbe@open.org> wrote:
 
>PS are all you folks with Hungarian sounding names so funny?
 
Actually Barbara, I do not think that Dale's name is Hungarian (we need to ask
Dale). Hungarian names do not usually end with a "cki". Dale's last name
actually sounds more like a Slavik name and not a Magyar one. I too think that
Dale is a riot. Maybe there is something in the water of the Danube that
affected our ancestors.
 
Anyway, I think that the Hungarians had to develop a good sense of humor in
order to survive being occupied by others during most of their 1100 year long
history. Among others the occupiers included the Turks, Austrians, Germans,
Russians and most currently American businessmen.
 
After World War I, during the signing of the Treaty of Trianon, the Hungarians
lost 2/3 of their territory to what is now Austria, Slovakia, the Ukraine,
Romania, Serbia and Croatia (Hey, Judith - did I get that right - did I forget
anybody else that got a piece of Hungary during the signing of the treaty in
France?)
 
Now you have got to have a pretty decent sense of humor to lose 2/3 of your
country and survive!
 
See ya,
 
Bob Czako
From: rczako@sprynet.com [SMTP:rczako@sprynet.com]
Sent: Tuesday, May 14, 1996 7:42 AM
To: bmt-talk@ai.mit.edu
Subject: Re: Thanks, running over cats and flamingos
 
Dear Ed,
 
Thanks for the nice letter!! Wow, and I thought that WE had been through a lot!
I am very sorry to hear that you lost your sister. It must have been awful. My
sister was my donor - if it wasn't for her I wouldn't be here today.
 
However, I can't feel too bad about your running over a cat. I do not know why,
but I have an inexplicable aversion to cats. Maybe one of my ancestors was eaten
by a saber-toothed tiger or something. I can't understand why - I just don't
like 'em.
 
ATTENTION CAT LOVERS: Please, don't flame me. I have not actually endorsed the
idea of running over cats. Even though I don't like cats much - I imagine that
they have rights too, ie. life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness (eating
birds and mice?)
 
Hey, I did accidentally run over a pink flamingo on the highway in Florida once.
Both of us (the flamingo and I) were either sleepy or sleeping. The flamingo
decided to take a nap in the middle of the northbound lane. My Toyota Corolla
won the car vs. flamingo impact contest. The car's front grill was crushed - but
the poor flamingo was practically "Cuisinart-ed"). The impact kind of woke me
up too. Pink feathers filled the air. It was ugly!
 
Thanks again for the nice note. I am hoping that your potential sibling donor's
health problem gets resolved soon and that you can get yourself back to the
Hutch for a transplant - they did a great job with me!
 
Best wishes to both you and your wife Faith
 
Bob
From: rczako@sprynet.com [SMTP:rczako@sprynet.com]
Sent: Friday, May 17, 1996 10:17 AM
To: bmt-talk@ai.mit.edu
Subject: Re: Thanks, running over cats and flamingos
 
On Thu, 16 May 1996, Tonysica@aol.com wrote:
>In a message dated 96-05-14 10:53:19 EDT, you write:
>
>>ATTENTION CAT LOVERS: Please, don't flame me. I have not actually endorsed
>>the
>>idea of running over cats. Even though I don't like cats much - I imagine
>>that
>>they have rights too, ie. life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness (eating
>
>>birds and mice?)
>And small dogs too!
>Tony
 
Actually, Hercules the Italian Greyhound learned his lesson about cats already.
He tried eating out of a cat's food bowl once - and he has a scar on his nose to
prove it too!!! But being Italian, Hercules just hired Luigi the Pit Bull to
show the cat how a pair of vise-grips work.
 
Bob
From: rczako@sprynet.com [SMTP:rczako@sprynet.com]
Sent: Sunday, April 28, 1996 2:49 PM
To: bmt-talk@ai.mit.edu
Cc: gail@airmail.net
Subject: A new niche in life - By CZAKO
 
Dear Gail Springer,
 
Before I begin this essay, I want you to know that your April 27, 1996 letter to
me inspired it. I have reproduced the text of your letter at the end of the
post. This essay contains the following sections (as well as plenty of spelling
errors!)
 
"A NEW NICHE IN LIFE" - By Bob Czako
 
YOUR LETTERS "KEEP ME GOING" - THEY ARE MY TROPHIES!
I MAY BE DISABLED, BUT I HAVE FOUND A NEW NICHE - SUPPORTING OTHERS
I THINK THAT MY FAMILY ENJOYS HAVING ME DISABLED!
MY NIECE AND NEPHEW
MY GRANDMOTHER
MY MOM
HERCULES
IS SURVIVING WORTH THE EFFORT?
REFLECTIONS ON HOSPITAL HOSPITALITY (by Ogden Nash, 1902 - 1971)
GAIL SPRINGER'S APRIL 27th LETTER TO BOB CZAKO
 
YOUR LETTERS "KEEP ME GOING" - THEY ARE MY TROPHIES!
It may sound a bit trite, but messages like the one that you just sent me are
what keep me going. When someone tells me that something that I have written
actually affected them in a positive way I feel a real sense of accomplishment.
I am very proud of many of the "humorous little essays" that I have written
during my two years battling lymphoma. I have really enjoyed writing them. When
I write the hours just fly by.
 
I have collected the nice comments that people have made about my writing the
way some people collect bowling or baseball trophies. When I am feeling down, I
just peruse the subdirectory that holds my "I really liked your recent posting
regarding ..." mail, and I soon feel much better. No medicine is better.
 
I MAY BE DISABLED, BUT I HAVE FOUND A NEW NICHE - SUPPORTING OTHERS
 
A plethora of chemotherapy drugs, two transplants, gobs of radiation, a serious
case of GVHD, shit-loads of Prednisone, Cyclosporine and constant anxiety about
relapsing have left me pretty much disabled. I can't do much physically to help
other people. Just climbing a flight of stairs leaves me out of breath.
 
My sister (who was also my donor) moved to a new apartment last week. The fact
that I could not help her very much with the move really saddened me. However, I
was able to provide her with lots and lots of moral support and humor - which,
due to the reason for her move, she really needed at the time. I made her laugh
when no one else could.
 
My condition has forced me to rely more on my intellect and sense of humor and
less on my physical abilities. I have become more of a "mental being" and less
of a "physical being" - but I guess that's O.K. I spend a lot of time on the
phone or writing these days. I have found a new niche. Now my job is to support
other people. The support may come in the form of advice/humor related to
serious life issues like relationships, career moves, or dealing with illnesses
(unfortunately I have become expert in that area). I also provide my friends
with more pedestrian, yet often important, support in various fields, e.i.
selecting and purchasing computers, stereos, automobiles and photographic
equipment (I just happen to know an awful lot about these things).
 
Sometimes the support that I give consists of my simply letting them vent about
something that bothers them - I have been told that I am a good listener and
"coach". I probably should have majored in Psychology and Journalism instead of
Statistics, Operations Research and International Marketing. Oh well.
 
I THINK THAT MY FAMILY ENJOYS HAVING ME DISABLED!
 
My family loves the fact that I now have so much free time. Instead of spending
my days preparing and giving sales presentations, rushing to catch a plane to
Paris or Pittsburgh for a conference, wining and dining clients or working at
mind numbingly boring trade shows - I now have lots of time to do things like
drawing goofy cartoons for my niece and nephew, writing to my grandmother in
Hungary (a laborious process because the Magyar language can be tough to write),
B.S.-ing" with my Mom on the phone about what kind of new birds we have
identified in our respective backyards or playing fetch with Hercules, my
emotionally disturbed little Italian Greyhound.
 
MY NIECE AND NEPHEW
 
Today, I went to the bank, got two Susan B. Anthony dollars, came home to take
my meds and to take a nap. When I woke up, I made two homemade greeting cards
replete with funny hand-drawn cartoons, went to Post Office and sent the cards
along with the silver dollars to my niece and nephew. Those two kids think that
I am the best thing since "sliced bread" since I pay so much attention to them.
I imagine that any psychologist worth their salt would tell me that I am fawning
on them now because at some level I realize that I may never have children of my
own or that I feel a need to dote on them now because I believe that I may not
be alive to do so later when they graduate, get married, etc. - and you know
what? The psychologist would be right!!! I have made a conscience decision to
love and entertain those wonderful little kids as much as I can and for as long
as I can. Hopefully the great relationship that we have will last another fifty
years!!!
 
I can't see them very often in person because my immune system is crummy and
they are like walking, talking petri dishes. One or the other is almost always
playing host to some nasty virus, bacteria or fungus. So I use the phone and
mail to communicate with them.
 
MY GRANDMOTHER
 
I have insulated my grandmother from the knowledge of my illness. She is in her
late eighties and she is quite fragile. She has told me that my letters and
drawing are what "keep her going". So I write to her and draw for her as much as
I can. It looks like I inherited the need for positive attention and praise from
her!
 
MY MOM
 
I just simply love my Mom. All of my friends do. For some reason, many of my
friends ended up with rather hideous mothers themselves - so we all share mine.
She has enough love for all of us. She studied to be a sculptor and an art
teacher in Europe and is very intellectual. She is so much fun to talk to. She
is a blast! Oh, by the way, she beat Ovarian Cancer about 16 years ago (her
current heart problems are probably from the mega-doses of Adrramycin that they
used to give.
 
Like me, she is disabled (bad heart) and on a fixed income. So we have a lot to
commiserate about. We help each other a lot. We trade ideas about illness and
nutrition, swap coupons, let each other know when the market has a special on
chicken breasts and we report back to each other about which stores at the mall
have the most effectively located handicapped parking spots. We both have
handicapped permits.
 
HERCULES
 
The vet charged me big bucks recently to tell us that Hercules developed
emotional problems when his pack's "alpha male" (that would be me) left the pack
leaderless during the first bone marrow transplant. My wife buys the story - I
think that it is a "crock of shit". The dog is just plain stupid and that is all
there is to it. When one of us leaves the room even for a moment, he starts
shaking and acts like we are never coming back - although we always have in the
past.
 
I do wish that my wife would believe, like Hercules does, that I am "our pack's
alpha male". However, since it is the 1990's we have to share the alpha male
role - she decides how we spend our money and I get to control the T.V. remote.
 
We share the role quite effectively, except when that god-awful show called
"Murder She Wrote" comes on at the same time as does Lassie (you see Hercules is
not only emotionally disturbed, but he has delusions of grandeur too boot - I am
considering renaming him Walter Mitty) and my favorite show, Biography on A&E
(they can make anyone's life seem fascinating).
 
When this favorite show triangulation phenomenon occurs it is like when all of
the planets in the Solar System line up in a row and all hell breaks loose on
Earth. In our house when the favorite show thing occurs, Cathy becomes alpha
male, super-bitch, pack-mama-extraordinaire or whatever the heck you want to
call it in a hurry - although I do not think that the Earth's tides are
affected.
 
Do you remember the way David Banner turned into the Incredible Hulk in the
1970's show with the same name whenever he got pissed off? You know, like when
someone accidentally dropped a wrench on his toe. Well that is what happens to
Cathy except that, even though her face gets a bit red, she doesn't turn green
and no buttons pop off of her shirt while her chest grows three sizes (Damn! at
least that would have made it interesting to watch!). I have tried protesting
about having to watch Angela Lansbury save Cabot's Cove from some unscrupulous
sot (who was usually played by some expert actor like George Hamilton or Doug
McClure) for the umpteenth time - but I usually end up cowering in the corner
with Hercules while we lick our wounds. Once Hercules tried to call 9-1-1 but he
misdialed and got the current time and weather instead. We did learn, however,
that it was to late and to rainy and cold outside to consider beginning our oft
threatened careers as freight train hopping ho-bos that night. So we just sat
back and did our best to understand the significance and humor of another
"Murder She Wrote" episode. I do think that at times Hercules was intrigued by
the bad guy's Rolls Royce because he hasn't yet chased a car like that - and I
admit that I was kind of intrigued by the bad-guy's girlfriend because I haven't
yet .... Oh, but I digress.
 
IS SURVIVING WORTH THE EFFORT?
 
In a nutshell, the answer is YES! I have really been through hell during the
last two years and, like many of us, at times I have wondered whether or not the
battle is worth fighting. I have wondered whether all of the money that the
insurance company has invested, the efforts of the medical professionals and my
wife's seemingly endless reserves of energy could have all been more effectively
spent. It almost seems selfish for me to expect that so much should be done just
for the sake of keeping Bob Czako alive. I am not the President. I am not a
Nobel Prize Winner. I am not an influential politician or businessman. I am not
a famous opera singer or physicist. I am not a Pulitzer Prize Winner (yet!). I
am basically just "Bob" - a "big nobody". Heck, I have not even enjoyed the
fifteen minutes of fame promised to all of us by Warhol. However, I figure that
as long as I can help other people in some way (and I guess that for me it will
be via my phone calls, writing and painting) that life is worth fighting for.
 
So, in conclusion, I want you to know that when you took the time to read my
posting and then wrote to me about how much you liked it, you truly helped to
make my life worth living (I know how corny this sounds, but it is true).
 
By the way, I have been collecting all of my essays and would very much like to
compile them into some sort of book one day. I think that many people would
enjoy them - whether they are battling an illness or not. Maybe you will see me
plugging my book on the Today Show before long!!!
 
Have a great day!
 
REFLECTIONS ON HOSPITAL HOSPITALITY
(by Ogden Nash, 1902 - 1971)
 
One eats no meats
Just Jell-O and beets,
And soups,
And schloops of Cream of Wheats
 
With a handshake in thought,
 
Bob Czako
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
Gail Springer's original letter to Bob Czako
Saturday, April 27, 1996 From: gail@airmail.net To: bmt-talk@ai.mit.edu
Subject: To Bob Czako Reply-To: bmt-talk@ai.mit.edu
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Dear Bob: Have you ever tried to make a living as a writer? You are very
good with words and absolutely amazing that in spite of everything you have
such a wonderful sense of humor. I bet you've kept a journal that is
absolutely amazing. I'm jealous, I really have always wanted to write. My
problem? I really have no talent in that area. You really do make the story
come alive, I have been able to picture myself in those bathroom areas with
you (which by the way wasn't the absolutely best experience for me either)
ha ha. I always thought when I was hearing about the Space Needle that was
some kind of awful procedure you had went through during your time of BMT
and I wasn't sure I wanted to know. I guess I'm kind of from the Planet
Dallas and had no idea there was a restaurant named that. So I really
laughed when I read your piece, because the whole time I had been imagining
some whopper size needle that did something awful to you that you had given
it a pet name "The Space Needle".
 
Keep those very interesting and humorous pieces coming. Some days you don't'
know (yes I guess you do) how much I need a laugh. When I'm feeling
particularly sorry for myself and go to my computer and check my messages
and read something from you or one of the others that makes me laugh out
loud, well it feels pretty good.
Thank you.
Gail Springer

I welcome your comments and suggestions.
Bob Farmer - robert.farmer@comcast.net

Last Updated on 06/09/04

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